Did that even apply when we were talking life and death?
He squeezed my shoulder again, so much like before, the way he used to do just before a big game or whenever I needed cheering up. “I gotta make sure I can protect you. Keep you kids safe.”
I crossed my arms, not feeling cheered at all by his response. I didn’t feel safer knowing my dad had altered his entire belief system . . . all because of me.
“So what do we do now? We lost pretty much everything back there.” My gaze slid to the glove box, and the gun inside. “Where do we go from here?”
My dad tapped Tyler enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Pull off up ahead there,” he directed. “First thing we need to do is regroup.”
We’d crossed into Wyoming now, which wasn’t so strange. For days we’d been zigzagging across state lines as my dad tried to steer clear of the Daylighters, and considering my current obsession, it shouldn’t have surprised me that the next exit was exit 17. We were on a highway that could barely be called a highway and there was a roadside diner with a flashing neon sign that had a pig wearing a cowboy hat. The pig promised the World’s Best Pie.
I had no idea what one had to do with the other.
Unlike the narrow road we’d been on, the parking lot was wide and vast, and way more congested than the time of night warranted. When we pulled in, I had to ask, “You sure this is a good idea? There’re a lot of people here. What if the Daylighters catch up with us?” Just to make my point, I turned to scan the road behind us, but no one was there.
My dad scowled at the mention of the Daylighters, but he was already buttoning the flannel shirt he’d been clutching when he’d come sprinting out from between the trees, which was probably a good thing because there were still sweat marks beneath the underarms of his T-shirt. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Trust me, they won’t find us here.”
Sliding me a sideways glance, Tyler pulled into the crowded lot without saying a word. He managed to wedge the battered pickup between two enormous semis, making my dad’s truck look miniature-sized, like some sort of windup toy.
I still wanted to talk to Tyler, but not here. Not with my dad listening.
“Wait here,” my dad told Nancy as he ruffled her head, but she refused to be appeased by a little affection. “Don’t be like that,” he promised. “I’ll bring you some leftovers.” As if that was the reason she growled when I reached for my door.
Whatever had really spooked her, she’d definitely transferred her fears onto me. In her mind, I’d become the boogeyman.
Transference—I’d learned the term in psychology, but now the word itself held so many more meanings to me.
Transference could literally mean moving something from one place to another, like the way I’d been taken, literally plucked from the road that night on Chuckanut Drive. Or the way my memories had been moved from my old body to this new one.
My dad reached back in the truck and came out with the pair of sunglasses I hadn’t been able to find. He offered them to me. “It’s still dark. We don’t need anyone noticing us.”
“Me,” I corrected, hardly able to hide my annoyance at being singled out, even though no one else’s eyes were glowing. “You don’t want anyone noticing me, you mean.”
“Kyra . . .” My dad sighed.
“Whatever.” I took the sunglasses and slipped them on. “It’s fine. I get it.”
I hoped the tint actually disguised my eyes rather than just making me look like some dork who thought it was cool to wear sunglasses at night.
Coffee. That’s why we’d risked pulling over. My dad needed coffee.
The World’s Best Pie was just a bonus.
“So how long do you think we have? Until they find us again?” Despite my strange choice in eyewear, I hadn’t drawn a single glance. Maybe because I wasn’t the only one with questionable fashion sense. I’d spotted at least half a dozen oil stains, several pairs of suspenders that were definitely not of the hipster variety, and more than a few (not-even-trying-to-hide-them) butt cracks. There was even one guy sporting a “Free Mustache Rides” T-shirt and an idiot’s grin. As if he really believed he had a shot at someone taking him up on his offer.
My dad ignored me and signaled to one of the waitresses wearing a cotton candy-colored uniform before she rushed past us with her coffeepot.